


Are you gonna wait for a sign?

by Mahoroba



Series: Avengers For Dinner [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward, F/M, Hangover, Hangover central, Love Triangle, Magic cleaning skills, Misunderstandings, Morning After, Plot thickens, Reader is from the South, Southern Reader, There's still a plot here, Truth in alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahoroba/pseuds/Mahoroba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which things get awkward after a drunken night with your mutant besties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Make no mistake where you are

When the two of you blearily staggered out of Clint’s room, it was to an oddly immaculate living room. Before they’d left, Sam, Rogue, and Remy had done a hell of a cleaning job, despite being drunk themselves.

 

“Southerners at their best,” you said, softly in awe as you took in the room. It was like you hadn’t projectile vomited all over.  Going a step further, it didn't even look like anyone had even come over.

 

“I’ll say,” Clint said, going to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Bless him. 

 

All of the food had been put up, with the exception of Clint’s lonely casserole dish. There was a note pinned to it, and as you moved closer, you realized it was Rogue’s graceful scrawl. 

 

_“Dear Sugarbee and Baby Bird -_

 

_We had a blast! Love ya  both._

 

_Baby Bird, tell Kate she has a hell of a recipe._

 

_Lots of love and kisses,_

 

_Rogue.”_

 

Lifting the tinfoil, you couldn’t help but to smile. Somehow, Clint had figured out how to make a sort of s’mores lasagna - layers of graham crackers overlaid with delicately toasted marshmallow and decadent chocolate. So what if it was totally made by his girlfriend? As much as your stomach wanted to protest, the sweetness of it was too much for you to resist, and you ran a finger around a space of bare pan. Rogue and company had left about a third of the pan for the two of you to share - because they were the best. Knowing Rogue’s sweet tooth, you knew it took a monumental act of willpower for her to leave any. 

 

You hadn’t realized that you’d gone from absently running your finger for crumbs to sneaking smaller bites until Clint’s voice startled you.

 

“You know, I can get a knife and some forks and a plate.” He was watching you, his eyes bright above the rim of the coffee pot as he lifted it to his lips and drank straight from it. Normally, you would’ve grimaced, but now, you had to admit that he was on to something.

 

“Save some of that for me.” 

 

“Already did,” and he tilted his head to the coffee cup that had somehow magically appeared in front of you. “I put that down in front of you like five minutes ago. You’re spacing out pretty bad. You okay, Vomit Comet?”

 

“You can take that nickname and go straight to Hell.” You ran your finger around the rim of the coffee cup. The light didn’t seem to hold such a murderous intent against you, but your stomach still felt like it was plotting against you.

 

“I speak out of love only,” he said, setting down the coffee pot. “So…about last night…”

 

“What about it?” Your tone was sharper than you wanted it to be, -because, **_girlfriend_** named KATE- and you both winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so nasty.”

 

“I’ll chalk it up to your hangover.” He took a deep breath, before lifting the coffee pot back to his lips. “So…” He started again, his tone far more cautious, “Some…stuff…was said.”

 

“What kind of ‘stuff’?” You had an idea, but wanted to know how bad it actually was. Sam wasn’t kidding about liquor loosening your tongue.

 

“That you thought I sang like an angel. And that you never pegged me for a Whitney Houston fan. And some stuff about love. Like you said you loved me. Repeatedly. Over and over and over and-” You weren’t entirely sure of his expression behind the coffee pot, but you were certain it was pompous. There was no way it wasn’t. And maybe it was part of the hang over, but it hurt your feelings. You couldn’t remember that much about last night, it was true, but you weren’t the kind of person who lied - let alone about something as serious as love. Yes, there was always something a little silly about drunk confessions, but it was too soon for him to be teasing you over it. Not with what all he **_hadn’t_** been telling you. 

 

“It’s entirely too early for this conversation.” You hoped that the anger wasn’t as clear in your voice as it felt. “I should get on my way; thanks for making sure I didn’t die in my sleep!” You hopped off the bar stool you were sitting on, and started hunting for your clothes - at least your shoes. “I’ll wash your stuff and get it back to you!”

 

“Now, hold on, (your name).” An edge of steel was in his voice, and it was enough to stop you in your tracks. You’d never heard Clint take such an authoritative tone with…well, anything. Much to your chagrin, you stopped, and sighed, tilting your head back. 

 

“You’re just going to tease me about whatever happened, and I don’t need that.” You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. His face folded into surprise - then he looked contrite. 

 

“I’m sorry, (your name). I didn’t meant to tease.” He trailed off, setting the coffee pot down. 

 

“Yeah, I bet. You think it’s hilarious that drinking makes people say things that they don’t mean.”

 

That hard look you’d seen him give Remy crossed his face, and he picked up the coffee pot again, taking a sip. When he set it down again, he didn’t look at you.  

 

“I get it. Booze makes us say weird stuff,” he sounded injured, but he kept talking before you could suss out how he actually felt, “It makes us do weird stuff, too. But something happened last night and I don’t know what it was. What it is. Do you?” His expression was unreadable.

 

You ran a hand through your hair nervously. You vaguely remembered Remy saying something about making sure that your powers didn’t leak, and you couldn’t remember digging into anyone’s aura. Hell, despite the raging hangover ramming at your shields, you couldn’t pick up a single thing from him. You were essentially flying blind.

 

“Clint…” You had no idea how you felt - it was entirely too early, but you couldn’t deny the pull. How you’d come to look forward to his random drop ins, the easy cadence of his voice, the side he showed you that you felt no one else got to see…And, against your better judgement, you focused nearly all of your brain capacity to using your power. You needed to see his aura, and you needed to see it now. He exploded around you, varying waves of purple. God, you’d gotten that initial read wrong. Clint wasn’t expressing lust - purple was his baseline color. There was the orange of comfort, still warm, still living, still pulsing, the deep emerald of friendship, and threaded through it all was the glittering pink, the pink that you knew beyond a doubt…And it was deepening the longer you looked at it. You quickly pulled out, before you ended up inadvertently pulling it out with you. Some emotions, in particular, strong ones, could cling to you even though you had no intention of using their power. Clint was crushing on you, and he was crushing on you **_hard_**. 

 

BUT he also had a girlfriend named Kate, and you had that thing with Steve, whatever IT was, and Steve was technically there first, and - 

 

He set down the coffee pot, and walked over to you. Placing his hands on your shoulders, he smoothed down the fabric over your shoulders. He lowered his head a little, and, on instinct, you stood up on your tiptoes, his breath brushing across your lips, a murmured whisper slipping from him… “(Your name), I…”

 

“Ah-hem.”

 

At the new voice, the two of you sprang apart. You felt a guilty flush rise to your cheeks. He. Had. A. Girlfriend. You couldn’t be doing this!

 

“What happened in here last night?” It was Tony Stark - and not just Tony, but Steve, Natasha, and Bruce behind him. Natasha fixed you with a cool green stare, and Bruce was attempting to look everywhere but at you. Steve’s face was unreadable. 

 

_This looks bad._

 

It had to look bad.

 

Clint was shirtless, clearly suffering from a lack of sleep, and you were in his clothes and clearly had just rolled out of bed. It’d be a charming, intimate little scene of two lovers - if it had happened anywhere else and with anyone else. 

 

“I can explain-,” Clint started, before he was cut off by the sound of Tony tut-tutting. 

 

“Don’t have to, Legolas. I won’t duel you for the hand of our fair Scarlett,” he drawled, batting those long eyelashes at him. “Seriously, though, good job. Stay on her good side so she can come over more often. Scarlett,” and Tony was off and away, giving you a jaunty two fingered salute.  Bruce gave you a slight nod of acknowledgement as he passed, following Tony as they (presumably) headed down to his workshop.

 

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the living room. You, Natasha, Clint, and Steve were caught in the world’s most awkward standoff, and you suddenly didn’t feel so well again. Clint seemed to wilt under Natasha’s questioning gaze, and Steve was soldier rigid, formal and cool. 

 

It was Natasha who spoke first.

 

“Well.” It was a statement, question, and accusation all rolled into one.

 

Steve stood at her side, looking down at the floor, steeling himself before he looked up at the two of you. Even from this distance, you could see the struggle in his eyes. A part of you was instantly indignant - who was he to judge you? You’d gone out with him once - as FRIENDS-, and since then, not even so much as a word. He was never around when you were, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have your number. Somehow Clint always made the time to text (even if it was just asking for food, seeing if you were at home, or how to spell something), and drop by your place. Clint talked to you. Steve had been a distant, glorious star - the thing that childhood crushes were made for. And now he had the gall to look disappointed?

 

But, oh, that face! As angry as you wanted to be with him for complicating your life far more than you ever wanted it to be (you were the type that liked to watch drama unfold from a safe distance), you were angrier at yourself. Had you even really given Steve a chance? You had his number, too. You hadn’t called or texted since that night - you hadn’t known what to say. If there was even a possibility of pursuing things further with him. You’d convinced yourself the day after your night out that there was no possible way. Steve was Steve - wonderful, pure, Steve - and you were hot mess incarnate. And Clint totally had a girlfriend so now he was also hot mess incarnate. 

 

“It’s…good to see you, (your name),” he said, finally, and it nearly broke your heart. Clint looked at him, then at you, and you could sense the gears turning. To say nothing of the somewhat shocked expression on his face. 

 

“I can explain,” he started again, this time turning to face Steve, his voice firmer, but it was all too much for you. Rogue was right. You hadn’t thought any of this through, hadn’t given any thought to anyone else’s feelings and just rode blindly on your gut instinct. You weren’t about to cry in front of these folks, but you were feeling the burning prick of tears as you gathered what was left of your dignity, pulled your head up high, and said,

 

“I’m going to be sick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no.
> 
> Story and chapter title from "This is It", by Kenny Loggins. Yes, Kenny Loggins. Because this fanfic? Highway to the DANGER ZONE.


	2. The waiting is over (no, don't you run)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Throwing up’s no fun,” he knelt in front of you, handing you the glass of water.
> 
> In which Steve Rogers earns his halo.

You were dry-heaving so bad that your knees were shaking. Luckily enough, your mad dash meant that you’d made it to the toilet in time. When it felt like you were finally done, you slowly peeled away from the rim of the toilet.

 

“(Your name)?”

 

You blinked, willing your eyes to go from swimming to focused. In front of you was the blurry outline of Steve. He had a glass of water in his hand, and maybe it was still the force of the hangover, but backlit by the morning sun, his hair was spun gold and the smile in his eyes was encouraging and oh, hey, there was his halo.

 

“Throwing up’s no fun,” he knelt in front of you, handing you the glass of water. You took it gratefully. “Spent a lot of time doing it as a kid.” He sat down on the other side of the toilet, long-legged in his sweats and gray underarmor shirt. “What in the world did you get into last night?”

 

“Rum. Tequila. Bourbon. Moonshine. Trouble in general.” You took a drink, swishing your mouth out and spitting in the toilet before actually letting yourself consume any of the water. It didn’t help with the headache, but it was starting to help your stomach.

 

“I could see that. The trouble, I mean,” and he looked over at you, the twist of his mouth mysterious.

 

“Hey, I’m an adult,” you shot back, a little insulted. “Shit happens.” There was a point in time where even the mere thought of swearing in front of Steve was enough to make you clutch your proverbial pearls. That was before you had a hangover the size of Texas and felt like a child trying to decide between her two favorite flavors of ice cream when she was told she could only have one. And also totally didn’t deserve the ice cream to begin with. 

 

“I meant no harm,” and now it was Steve’s turn to sound insulted. “Just that you look like you fell off the wagon last night.”

 

“Fell off of it and got run over by it in the process.” You set the glass of water down, thought better of it, and with a mighty breath, forced yourself to chug it. Steve watched, moderately impressed.

 

“If you drank last night like you just did that glass of water, I’m surprised you’re not dead.” Wry humor slipped into his voice, and as out of sorts as you were, it calmed you. Somewhere, somehow, everything was going to be okay. You allowed yourself to laugh now, shaking your head a little as you set the glass down.

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure that I’m not. Apparently I puked all over the place last night. My girlfriend Rogue cleaned me up and Clint gave me some of his clothes,” and you waved down at what you had on. “As least that’s how they tell it. I don’t remember a whole lot of last night. But I regret nothing,” you added cheekily. “At  least I don’t think I do.” You closed an eye, looking over at Steve. His returning smile was warm, slightly mischievous.

 

“Have to admit,” you started again, shuffling to rest your back against the toilet bowl, “it probably looked pretty bad this morning.” What did you have to lose? Might as well talk about the elephant in the room. Steve’s face lost a bit of its humor as he looked down the length of his legs, before giving a slight shake of his head.

 

“Like you said, you’re an adult.”

 

Something in the way he responded cut you to the quick – which piqued your anger. It must’ve been clearer on your face than you thought, as the tips of Steve’s ears flushed. “That didn’t come out the right way. I meant that whatever happened between you and Clint, well, that’s between you and him. You’re a great gal, (your name); I can’t fault the guy for going after something I wasn’t sure how to handle.”

 

_Say what?_

 

“Steve, honey, what do you mean by that?” You fought the urge to scoot closer to him, getting face to face. Pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate puke breath.

 

“I thought…” his laugh was sheepish now, the flush going from his ears to his cheeks, “Well, I thought that the night we had at the concert was a date. But then I didn’t hear anything back from you,  and Clint said he’d been to your place a few times, so I assumed…”

 

“Clint randomly drops by on my patio asking for food like a stray cat,” you snorted. “But he does come over fairly often. We eat and talk for a few hours before he’s off and away again. On that note, though – I hadn’t heard anything from you, either.” You poked at his foot with your own. “I didn’t think the concert was a date. I mean, why would Captain America, of all people, ask me out?” You must’ve still been drunk; there was no way you could have been talking like this sober.

 

Steve’s smile was boyish shy and you wanted to scream. As even the thought of speaking louder than a whisper made your head throb, you didn’t. 

 

“You’re a good cook – Ma always said to find a girl that knew how to cook.” He saw you wind up to slap his shoulder, and held out his hands defensively, laughing. “I’m kidding. I wanted to get to know you better. You’re not really around the Tower, and I get that, but whenever you are, I enjoy it. I wanted to see more. After I hadn’t heard anything back from you, I didn’t want to be a bother, so…”

 

Okay, had you died? Steve was confessing that he wanted to get to know you better. And that he had totally asked you out on a date. As much as your heart wanted to take wing and burst out of your chest into the stratosphere, the look on Clint’s face as he figured out there was _something_ between you and Steve was a lead weight.

 

“Steve, I...”

 

“Hey, if you have something going on with Clint now, I get it. It’s not the first time I’ve been late for a date,” and despite the good natured smile on his face, the pain in his eyes was real. “And I probably could have found a better time to tell you this.” He nodded towards the toilet, and despite yourself, you laughed.

 

“Clint and I are friends. Last night, I introduced him to some of my friends at the School and we went off the rails. I’m sure Clint is likely to say the same.”

 

_Is he, though?_

 

You hoped that there was some conviction in your voice – you weren’t 100% sure. You still didn’t know what happened between Clint, Sam, and Remy – or who this ‘Kate’ was, either. Though you were pretty sure, whoever she was, she was gorgeous, tomboyish, maybe a little scuffed up around the edges, but had a heart of solid gold and always smiled at Clint whenever he got over his head. You were willing to chalk up last night to a lot of booze and misunderstandings. That happened. Clint had said so, too. About how booze made you do weird things.

 

_But hadn’t it felt…just a little natural to want to kiss him?_

Nope nope nope. You were not going to board that train of thought – speculating, reading into things and then reacting into what you assumed was going to happen. That’s how you got into this mess to begin with. You were  going to focus on the here and now. And right now, Steve was saying that he wanted to get to know you better, and had the real “excuse” of not being sure of how to go about it. To be fair, he had a point; you hadn’t contacted him either. It suddenly (and painfully) dawned on you what a jerkass move that had been.

 

“…I didn’t think that you even saw me that way,” you confessed, folding your hands in your lap. “I thought that you were being friendly. Like I said, why would Captain America want to get to know me better?”

 

“ ‘Captain America’ is a uniform; a title. I’m Steve Rogers,” and there was a stubborn set to his mouth that made you want to trace it with your fingers. “And as Steve Rogers, I’m allowed to be as human as anyone else – including being interested in a funny, intelligent, and kind woman that takes the time out of her day to introduce me to new things without asking for anything in return. Who drops everything she was doing to make me a meal because someone she barely knows asked her to do it for me. And me – you didn’t even know who I was, past the title. But you talked to me like I was anyone else. You didn’t treat me with kid gloves because of…well, you know,” he grinned easier now. He didn’t have to elaborate. 

 

Sure, you hadn’t dug **_all_** up in his business, but you knew what the textbooks said about him. You’d even spent some time at his Smithsonian exhibit (school field trip), and your heart had ached for him. You’d never dreamed that you’d actually end up talking to him, let alone cook for him. “Being around you was like having all the good things about being home again.” His eyes were far away – he had to be thinking about back when he was sickly, weak Steve Rogers. You couldn’t imagine what it would have been  like – no matter what people try to say, kids were bastards. You’d spent enough time around them at the School to see the social politics between them play out, and it wasn’t pretty. “You treated me like I was real.” 

 

He stood up now, offering you his hand. Blinking, you took it, still trying to process what he was saying. You hadn’t realized how much that dinner had meant to him.

 

Finally finding your nerve, you grasped his hand in yours, and he easily pulled you to your feet. Standing face to face, you felt your cheeks grow warm.

 

 “Lemme stop you right there,” and you held up a hand. “I’m just as guilty of the blind hero worship as everyone else. You’re not only Captain America, you’re handsome as all get out and as sweet as honey from a bee. How could I not-”

 

 You were cut off by the look he gave you, pointed and playful at the same time. “I’m Captain America. I get that. But under that, and regardless of the uniform, I’m always Steve Rogers. Just a kid from Brooklyn.”

 

“I’m sorry for misunderstanding, then,” you finally said, licking your suddenly dry lips. It was a lot of information to process, and to be fair, you felt the impact of being so dazzled by his title that you’d forgotten that he was indeed an actual person  kick you in the guts. That hadn’t been fair. And you were going to fix that. “Steve, I’m sorry. I haven’t given you a fair shake at all.”

 

“It’s all right. Tends to happen quite a bit in this line of work,” his smile was kind, hopeful. “But now that you know…”

 

“I’m sorry I never called you back,” you blurted out. “Honestly, I’ve been too dagblasted scared to even text you. I kept tellin’ myself that I’d do it, then I’d get caught up in school or something or the other and that ‘later’ became days, then weeks, and well, here we are.” You laughed, nervously.

 

“That’s strange,” he mused, looking up at the ceiling before looking back down at you, “I thought that kisses still meant the same thing now as they did back in my day.”

 

Those kisses on your cheek. That had meant that Steve was definitely interested. And you…you groaned aloud, slapping your hands over your eyes. How had you gotten such a bad read on the whole thing? Your powers were the absolute worse. Okay, no they weren’t – you had seen that glittering pink, and had spent more time convincing yourself that it wasn’t there instead of trusting it. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. 

 

“Lands sakes, you Avengers have me all cattywampus,” you sighed.

 

“The feeling is mutual. Every time I start thinking I’ve gotten the hang of this brave new world, something new has me in left field. A talking house, gods, aliens, a girl that doesn’t know what kisses mean…” He trailed off, looking at you with mischief. 

 

“Hey, well, you’re too busy out there saving the world. I can’t expect you to make the time for me.”

 

“I can make the time,” he started – and his cheeks grew pinker. “The world doesn’t need to be saved all the time,” he finished. “But I don’t want to crowd you. The next time you’re here…maybe we could watch a movie? I’m trying to catch up on those, too. Do you have any that you’d recommend to me?”

 

Oh, god, he thought he was being slick – and your ovaries just wanted to explode.

 

“I think I have a few,” you said, trying to stop yourself from madly giggling. Steve liked you. And the confusion with Clint seemed nothing but a distant, alcohol fueled memory…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Kenny Loggins; more difficult choices.


End file.
